


The Leather Shoot

by alwaysmyway



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015) RPF, Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: (sorta kinda), (sorta) - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Butt Plugs, Gratuitous Smut, Leather, Leather Jackets, Leather Kink, Leather Trousers, Masturbation, Mentions of Glen Powell, Mentions of Grant Gustin, Mentions of Ian Bohen, Mentions of Stephen Amell, Mentions of Stephen Amell/Tyler Hoechlin, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Uncircumcised Penis, Uncut Derek, oh god this is kinky for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8735686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysmyway/pseuds/alwaysmyway
Summary: Closet Leather Daddy Tyler Hoechlin enjoys his recent freebies after a photo shoot.





	

[Inspired by this post by zacefronsbf on Tumblr.](http://zacefronsbf.tumblr.com/post/153914843866/tyler-hoechlin-being-a-leather-daddy)

 

It's a perk of the job, and one Tyler Hoechlin is pretty fond of.

Free stuff. Expensive stuff. Given away, for some reason or another, to people who can definitely afford to buy it. Sure, it's an endorsement kind of deal, and you usually have to take goofy photos posing with whatever product being handed out. A small price to pay, right?

This time, it's a little different. Normally it's a t-shirt here, some jeans there. Cologne out the ass. Maybe some collectibles and things, if you're looking to improve your nerd cred. But leather, this is different.

Fuck, leather.

A rippled gray and black leather jacket, the most handsome of wardrobe staples. Crinkled and distressed for that "disheveled elegance" look. Velvety black leather pants, tight around the thighs and ass, framing his strong lower body beautifully.

Of course, everything free has a catch in show business. Fronting some sort of fashion campaign, they all run together in his eyes. A few quick shots posing and looking himself, no big deal. Now if he could just will this boner away... fuck, maybe he shouldn't have worn his leather thong today.

He hides it well, sliding his hands in front of his crotch as the photographer poses. Maybe brushing against his rigid erection every so often, feeling the warm interior of his leather trousers sliding against his cockhead that has long escaped its home.

Finally, it's over. Off to the dressing room it is, trying to casually hide the snakelike bulge against his right thigh. Only a few more feet, he thinks to himself... then he's home free.

The dressing room door shuts, and Tyler stands in front of a floor length mirror. He tugs back the sides of his jacket, exposing the erect nipples in his soft cotton tee. He circles his right nipple with his left thumb, his right hand sliding down the bulge in his thigh. He can feel the wetness at the tip, and moans softly as he traces the head.

Fuck, leather.

Biting his lower lip, he slides three fingers across his confined length, moaning beneath his breath. Softly rubbing them across the surface as he latches his free hand onto his nipple. Fuck, he should have worn his rings today. His tits are so sensitive when he has his rings in. He fantasizes about tugging at the silver nipple rings left as his apartment, knowing how easy they get him off. Just by stimuation. His right thumb slides against the head of his sheathed cock, feeling his length tense in its tight confines. Tyler contemplates whether he should go for broke and soil those gorgeous leather pants with his seed, thinking how sexy it'd be to bust his load and have it be trapped between his furry thighs and their covering. His cock jolts as precum pulses out, feeling the wetness against his thighs, matting their hairy surface.

No, he has to control himself. Free stuff does not mean disposable. And besides, he's never had the balls to buy a pair for himself. Several leather jackets, but no leather pants. And god forbid the paps see him out shopping. Superman wears leather pants? It's doubtful DC would approve.

He shuts his eyes and silently curses. He pulls his hand away from his nipple and down to his belt, which he unbuckles with precision. Then comes his pants, the silver fastenings sliding away. His untamed black bush is exposed soon after, wiry and poking from the upper lip of his black leather jockstrap. Unzipping his pants further, he tugs out his moist leather pouch and lets it hang free between his thighs as he digs into his pants, groaning as his wet hardon slides out from between the leather and his thighs. His eight-inch rod is uncut and reddened from stimulation, near purple at the tip and soaked with precum. He pulls his pants down around his ass and slips his cock through the tight leather straps of his jock.

His chest tightens as he looks at his reflection once more. His prick stiff against his stomach, pulsing with need. His sack trapped within a bulging leather pouch, nipples poking gloriously through the thin fabric of his shirt. He twirls a finger in his pubes, thinking how hot it'd be to get a picture and send it to one of his leather buddies. Amell would get a kick out of it, and he always reciprocates.

Or maybe he just needs to cum.

Yeah, that's it.

He lifts the hem of his shirt and pushes his left arm upward, his hands flat against his hairy chest and his tight pecs. His top slides upward as his sweaty palm slides across his pecs and down his fur-trailed abdominals.

His free hand?

Wrapped around his aching hard member, thumbing at the smooth and sensitive head as precum leaks steadily from the slit. Palming sensually up the shaft, gyrating in sync with his wet grip. His chest is tight as he lifts his shirt up and rests it on his chest, the thick nubs crowning his pecs red with their own stimulation.

"God my tits look good..." Hoechlin stutters as he watches himself in the mirror. He reaches up and grabs his right pec once more, kneading at the firm shape. He wants them bigger, he wants his entire body bigger, but his obligations elsewhere are holding him back. He licks his lips, wishing someone could suck on his nipples. He backs away from the mirror and leans against the wall behind him, thrusting his chest forward as he begins to jerk himself in earnest. His fingers are back on his right nip, tweaking firmly.

But then he remembers.

Tyler eyes his black leather backpack. Knowing what lies in the compartment beneath his iPad and tech accessories.

Standing still for a moment, he catches his breath and lets go of his nipple. He takes his jacket off and shucks his shirt, only to pull the jacket back on over his broad shoulders and corded, muscular arms. His erection bobs back and forth as he walks to his backpack and unzips it, and reaches down into the base compartment. Up goes the velcro strap, and out comes the broad black taper of an anal plug, ridged at the sides.

Tyler places the plug on the dressing room table and takes another deep breath before putting one of his left fingers in his mouth. He tongues and laps at it as another finger slides between his lips, then a third. His stiffness leaks as he sucks wantingly on his fingers, his eyes closing as he wraps his right hand back around his turgid length, pulling his foreskin tight around the base as clear fluid weeps from the needy tip.

His left hand slides down his rounded, toned ass, sliding through the fuzz that coats the surface. He pokes at his opening, shuddering as his wet index finger slides in.

"ohhhh.. OhHhh..." Tyler groans mightily as he pushes his finger through his tightness, his middle finger following as he starts to bend and stretch at his hole. He bites his tongue, not knowing if he can be heard, and a third finger pushes against his sphincter. He tightens himself and then loosens up, breathing heavily, as his third finger penetrates his opening. He wriggles his digits within his hole, sliding them against his walls as he tugs and releases on his foreskin. He lets go of his cock to push the leather pouch of his jock down, and pulls his fuzzy sack out above it. His tight balls feel full and ready, but Tyler has always loved taking his time.

The woody scent of his deodorant contrast with the manly stench of his moist balls and that heady musk emanating from his needy cock. Tyler grabs his cock and makes several harried pumps, groaning as he pushes his three fingers deeper inside. His nips tingle in the cool air of his dressing room, to which he unlatches from his member to give his tits some attention. He rolls his left nipple between the pre-slicked thumb and forefinger of his right hand, feeling his member twitch as he pulls at his nipple. He follows with his right nip, still thinking how much fun he'd have with his rings ready to go... but there's always later tonight.

Tyler's belt buckle jingles as he goes back to masturbating, another moan escaping his mouth as he bends his finger and probes at his prostate. He contemplates going for broke, but knows he'd rather have his hands free. After a few more teasing pokes, Tyler pulls his wet fingers from his stretched hole and grabs his plug.

Placing it down on his dressing room chair, Tyler shimmies his pants down to midway of his thighs, the black straps of his jock wrapping around the upper parts of his athletic legs. Keeping watch in the mirror, Tyler lowers himself onto the plug, his eyes closing as the tip pierces his hole. The tapered length of the plug stretches him wider than he remembered, the ribbed edges of the plug causing his cock to surge... until his hole engulfs the stem, trapping the plug deep within him.

Feeling full and ready, Tyler tugs his pants back up to the base of his ass, shifting around in his seat. He lifts himself enough to see the base of his plug against his round cheeks, smirking as he gives himself a light smack on the right side.

Another deep breath, and he grasps his cock once more. A stream of precum runs down his shaft as he sits back down, and the man starts to fist his cock with renewed effort. His breaths become pants as he jerks himself off, groaning as his free hand goes back to massaging and tweaking his nipples. His tight sack bounces as he strokes himself furiously, thrusting his chest forward as his tit worship sends jolts of pleasure to his dick.

Moans come out with more frequency as he thrusts himself forward harder, lapsing into grunts. The cuff of his leather jacket occasionally hits his shaft as the wet sounds of his self-pleasure ring in his ears. His eyes close once again, his mouth lolling open as he feels himself at the brink, his pace quickening, his breath trembling and intense as he pumps his cock with vigor.

Tyler feels his orgasm bubbling up inside of him and thrusts upward, his chest in the air, as a massive load of hot opaque seed rockets out of his cock and splatters against his nose and chest. His juices ooze down his lips and streak his scruff as he groans, holding onto his left pec as he spurts. Ropes of thick essence splatter across his chest and ooze down his abs as he cums violently, groaning aloud as he gives in. His abs tense and flex as he orgasms, his balls tightening, his ass clenching around the plug stuffed within his hole. The strength of his cumshots lessen as he bucks forward several times, arcs of warm cum pooling down his stomach and matting his treasure trail and bush. His chest hair is soaked, globs of cum speckled throughout the sweaty tuft of hair.

Coming down from his high, he slinks back against the chair as droplets string from his chin onto his chest. He lets go of his pec as the remains of his orgasm bubble from his cock, seeping into his jockstrap. He reaches towards a towel on a nearby rack, but stops short to grab his phone. Spinning his chair to the best angle, he opens his photos app and snaps a picture. His phone moves down to between his legs as he angles the camera upward, getting the perfect shot of his rigid, dripping hardon and the streaks of cum that now line his chest.

"Broke in the new jacket and pants. Next time i'll get it on video."

He checks Stephen Amell in his recipients folder and goes to the send button. He hesitates, only to scroll once more and tag Grant Gustin as well. Then Ian Bohen. Then Glen Powell.

He fires off his message and puts his phone back on the table, face down. He grabs the towel from the rack and does his best to wipe himself off, taking care to clean the deposits from his face and neck. His body hair is still matted and sticky, and the scent of sweat and sex emanates from his body. He sits up straight and takes another breath, when he notices several small splatters across the sides of his leather jacket.

Eh, he has more at home.

Tyler takes off the jacket and pulls his shirt back on, his jacket going back over it. He stuffs his half-hard cock back into its leather home, and zips himself up. His bulge is obscene, and he plans to leave it that way.

As he goes to buckle his belt, his phone vibrates.

"Stephen Amell:  
You better. Fuck yeah, leather."


End file.
